The cross
by Wingless Rain
Summary: Love. However, love is blind.


The cross

-

The youngest of them, someone I enjoy torturing above all others, leans in close, mouth against my right ear, then it whispers sweet words that make me feel better.

"You'll understand all of this, given time. This will open your eyes to the great whole like nothing else can. See it as a repayment for all the rides you took me on." A shallow kiss is planted on my lips; mock and scorn riding high on it. I enjoy this feeling of helplessness, because I'm sick and twisted.  
The beatings, the broken promises, the sexual deviance - all join together and become a primeval beast that rips and tears into me, fangs slick with my blood, its face stained by pieces of my flesh. Gouged full of holes, but it doesn't matter. As I stated earlier, I enjoy this treatment.

Flex my fingers, touch the nails embedded in my palms. Red drips from around them, warm like the young creature's breath against my face. It didn't approve of my methods at first, but it gave in to them eventually. Convinced to surrender, with only a slight spice of spite and an even slighter scent of shame.  
Purity lost at my hands, early, too early, even for one of these mysterious creatures. The cynical views, the total refrain from profanity, the almost androgynous shapes of its body. I was sucked in, then I twisted further.

Its left hand comes to rest on the right side of my face, then my lips are pierced by the tongue I've tasted so many times before. They circle each other, mix freely. Fingers spread across my face, fingers as delicate as glass, but the frailty is a lie, for even though the creature is young and innocent, it's already perverted beyond salvation. It knows how to kill, how to inflict pain with little to no effort, and how to bring a smile to my withered form. We part, and I realize something new.  
The creature is my personal rapture.

It's stepped away, and now watches me, right arm in a cast, left ear torn, face formed into a smirking death mask.  
They are all courtesy of my hands, and my hands only. Jealousy made me do it, because it looked at someone other than me, someone I hate and despise, eyes ablaze with a respect it's never shown me. Confrontation.  
I landed the first blow, but it quickly got the upper hand. At the end of it, we were both bruised and bleeding. Somehow, for some reason, it choose to forgive me, and a moment of intense passion followed.

Facade.  
The creature was used to infiltrate, steal things, insignificant things that I never noticed were missing. Napkins scribbled with words, keycards, a few electronic bracelets, clipboards. They couldn't harm us, unless put together. They couldn't harm us, because the creature enjoyed our company. They couldn't harm us, because the creature would never give them up freely.  
Its feelings were true, uncut, and no one could convince it to side, but someone worked its magic on the creature when we weren't watching.  
Persuasion, false safety, sickening affection. It caved in slowly, and now we're all together here.

A hill, on the outskirts of the forest. Strong winds blow in from the east, shuffle what little hair I have around. It wants to join the creature's, but we're too far apart. I long for a final embrace, but I'm forced to wait for it.  
Forced to consider the current situation like a machine.  
Two graves, one shallow and small, the other one deep and large, have been dug behind the crowd gathered before my eyes. Our final audience.  
Late, sun's setting somewhere behind, casts my cross-like shadow upon the gathering's faces. Their weapons were discarded at last, the tyrant and his aide ensnared by death's cold hands.

The leader mouths words, words that will be defied by the creature once they've all been said. It stands collected, calm even during this moment of crisis - its way of seeing and judging completely different to all other beings known to both our kinds. We've done some horrible things, things beyond my own imagination, because of the war. Our opponents aren't innocent themselves, and their leaders have sent countless to their graves with the intention of buying time. Our choices shaped us, and all who participated in this game changed.

It's over, now, ended at long last by a neutral warrior.  
They used the stolen items to bypass our defenses, even managed to reprogram the robots to serve them. Then they found us.  
We killed many that day, so many, and the corpses of children once again filled our metal halls. It didn't last, couldn't last, and the darkest and saddest soldier among them took us both on, alone, and triumphed.

Now we're bound and nailed to crosses shaped from metal. Large nailguns were used to attach us to the frames, and we've listened to their leader sing out or deeds for almost an hour.  
My head sinks, but the creature traces me with its gaze. It's not time yet.

"And on that fateful night, exactly seven years ago from this point in time, you did indeed revolt and overthrow the Acorn family," it's correct. Counted the days, the hours even. "You have been found guilty of all charges, thanks in no small part to the overwhelming evidence at hand, and your sentence is, as everyone gathered here already knows, a slow death at the hands of birds, starvation, and dehydration. While not sufficient, it's the best we can do without resolving to your methods." All true. I need this punishment to become a human being again. Crave it.

They slide into focus. Sally's the one who crushed us single-handedly, and the one who reads to us. She cut my left shoulder so bad that the arm will never work again, not that it matters.  
"The hero of the day stands among you, yet he is not one of you," her throat's cleared, people sigh. "He's beyond all of us, his sense of justice too deep to even fathom."

There's praise, there are hollers, but none of it's for real. The creature turns around slowly, its cold eyes pass over them, then they drift into absolute silence.  
It is the second in command, outranked only by Sally herself. Everyone knows this, but the official stance is that her lover, Sonic, is next in line. It's a big lie, but the creature doesn't seem to care.

We meet again as it returns to me. Dead eyes fall on my face, watch my wrinkles. They pierce right through you, and only mad men can withstand them for more than mere seconds. I'm one of those men. Shift, try to squirm into a more comfortable position, feel my broken bones protest in relative silence.  
"It pains me to say this, Miles, but," I give this my all, just to add closure, "you'll miss me, and no one will ever be able to fill my place. You've lost parts of yourself, because, as Sally gave you love to begin with, she now takes it away forever." I'm not selfish in any way. I'm actually enjoying myself beyond words, content with the knowledge that I'll be dead and buried soon. Smirk slightly, feel the dried blood on my beaten face.

He shakes his head, but maintains his smirk through it all.  
"Well, that's life," condescending, cynical, realistic - too mature for his own good. Smirk's replaced by a grin, then he steps over to me again. The gathering tries to crush him with their massed eyes, but he's invincible, ethereal, almost immortal, and pays them no mind at all. "You're right, Kintobor. I won't find your like ever again, so I've decided to lock my memories up in a box for future reference," he taps his left foot against the box he placed in front of me when the trial started, "because it's not possible to go back once you've tasted love."

He's seven years old, around my height, but above me when it comes to all other aspects of life. He's strong, always determined, impossible to bend or dent, beautiful, smart, well-spoken, and possesses an attitude that sets my soul on fire.  
Everything that could be wished for, and more, safely contained within an orange-furred shell tempered by years of broken promises, abuse, and loneliness - just like myself. His twin tails give him his nickname, and make him feel exotic in a way.  
I melt every time he climbs into my arms. Soft, precious, angles rounded down, face sculpted and radiating an inner glow. Delicate, but always willing to challenge the norm.

He's a fallen angel given flesh.  
"I'll figure this out before I die," I shot back at him, then I spit in Sally's direction. "Enjoy your victory, it will last forever."

A dark chuckle, followed by the devil's own smile. He regards me closely, studies every seam.  
"This isn't so much a victory as it's poetic justice," we understand each other, and neither one's planned to break me free or apologize. This is what must be. "I can't enjoy this, because it doesn't concern me in the least."

He changes, somehow. It's a mental switch, and I know what it means. He turns his back on me, finally ready to slam Sally's world to pieces with a profound statement that only I will ever understand.  
"You've raised me," he turns his head towards the princess, "and that means you're guilty of my sins. Savor this victory, murderer."

It ends then, just as he looks over his left shoulder, and his ice-cold eyes dig deep into my soul.  
"Farewell, Snively."

-

VT2 - 2006. Based loosely on the lyrics of the song Farewell, by Lavos.


End file.
